German Church, Stockholm

Stand in the narrow lane and listen for a moment. Above the rooftops of Gamla stan, Stockholm's Old Town, a set of bells may be playing a slow hymn melody. The notes drop down between walls of ochre, rust and pale yellow plaster. Underfoot, the cobbles are rounded and uneven, worn smooth by centuries of boots. Look up, and a tall green copper spire rises above the tiled roofs. This is the German Church, known in Swedish as Tyska kyrkan.

The church has a second name, and it helps explain everything else. It is dedicated to Saint Gertrude of Nivelles, a seventh-century abbess from what is now Belgium. In the Middle Ages, German merchants in Stockholm formed a guild under her name. Gertrude was a patron of travellers, which made sense for traders who crossed the Baltic Sea. The guild met on this site long before there was a church here as you see it now.

To understand why German merchants were here at all, picture medieval Stockholm as a trading port. The Hanseatic League was a powerful network of merchant towns, many of them German, that controlled much of the Baltic trade. Merchants from Lübeck and other Hanseatic cities settled in Stockholm. They brought iron, salt, cloth and money. For a long time, German speakers formed a large and influential part of the town's population. Some of them sat on the town council.

In the sixteenth century, after the Reformation, Sweden became Lutheran. The German community wanted its own congregation, with services in its own language. In the 1570s, the Swedish king allowed the German speakers to form a separate parish. The old guild house of Saint Gertrude became their church. That arrangement has lasted a remarkably long time. Here is the first surprise for many visitors — this is still a living German-speaking Lutheran parish, and services in German continue today.

As the congregation grew richer, the building grew too. In the seventeenth century, the church was rebuilt and enlarged into the form you see now. It is a hall church, which means the side aisles are roughly the same height as the main nave. The effect inside is broad and open, like one large room rather than a tall central corridor. The vaulted ceiling forms star patterns above the pillars, an echo of the late Gothic style of northern Germany.

Now walk around the outside if you can. The church sits tightly between the lanes, so you never see it all at once. On the side facing Svartmangatan, look for the carved stone portal. Sculpted figures stand above the doorway, and the stonework shows the deep shadows of careful carving. Many people hurry past toward the main square and miss it. Take a minute here. The detail is fine, and the stone carries the soft wear of weather and time.

Next, the spire. The tower you see today is not the original. A fire in the late nineteenth century damaged the old tower, and a new one was built in a neo-Gothic style, a revival of medieval Gothic forms. The design is credited to Julius Raschdorff, a German architect who also designed Berlin Cathedral. So the church's most visible feature was drawn in Germany, quite fittingly. Its copper has turned green with age, and it is one of the tallest points in the Old Town skyline.

That spire holds the bells you may have heard on arrival. The church has a carillon, a set of tuned bells played to form melodies. Several times a day, they ring out hymn tunes across the rooftops. Here is the second surprise. Many visitors to Gamla stan hear these bells without ever learning where the music comes from. If you hear them later today, from a café or a side street, you will know.

Step inside, if the church is open during your visit. The first thing you may notice is the colour. Dark carved wood, gilded details and white walls create a strong contrast. The light falls through tall windows onto the pews. The smell is often of old timber and stone, cool even in summer. Sound behaves differently here too. Your footsteps carry, and a low voice travels further than you expect. Many visitors fall quiet without being asked.

Look toward the pulpit and the altar. Both are richly decorated in the Baroque style, a seventeenth-century style known for drama, movement and gold. Carved figures, columns and ornament fill every surface. These furnishings were paid for by wealthy members of the congregation, merchants who wanted their faith and their success to be visible. Some of the memorial plaques and epitaphs on the walls name these families. They are a record of the German community that shaped this part of the city.

Then look up and find the royal gallery. This raised, enclosed box was built so that the Swedish royal family could attend services here. It is often attributed to Nicodemus Tessin the Younger, the architect behind Stockholm's Royal Palace, just a few minutes' walk away. A royal box in a German parish church may seem unexpected. But it shows how close the German merchant families were to power in seventeenth-century Stockholm.

Outside again, notice how the lanes around the church shape your experience. Prästgatan, the Priests' Street, runs behind it, narrow and quiet. Tyska Brinken, the German Slope, climbs beside it. These street names hold onto the memory of who lived and worshipped here. Walk a few steps along each one. The church appears and disappears between the buildings, and the spire changes shape against the sky with every turn.

Before you move on, stand still once more in the lane. Look at the green copper spire, the warm plaster walls, the cobbles under your feet. For more than four centuries, people have gathered here to pray in German, in the middle of a Swedish city. When you walk away, listen. Perhaps the bells will begin again, and follow you down the slope toward the water.